THE WORKING DEBATE WOULD FINALLY be over. Rosslyn got a job working at legal aid, which was great news. The legal aid building was in safe area—an area I knew well—and she was already accustomed to her surroundings since she’d been volunteering there for months.
But none of that mattered as much as her happiness.
Her radiant smile when she announced that she’d found a job we could both be happy about was all I needed. The rest was minor details. I knew she loved working with legal aid. She’d told me stories about some of the families she had worked with. It was a job that made her feel like she was making a difference, and that was important to Rosslyn. Therefore, it was important to me.
I felt good about the outcome of her job search. Ideally, she wouldn’t work at all. She didn’t need to, but since it was something she was hell-bent on doing, legal aid was the perfect compromise. A safe environment for her meant I was no longer the bad guy sitting around worrying about her working with hardened criminals.
She was smiling.
I was smiling.
It was altogether a good day.
Until it wasn’t.
The smile melted off my face the minute Mac came into my office with an aggravated expression.
“Did you find him?”
I knew the answer to my question before Mac had said anything. It was obvious by his reddened face and stiff shoulders.
“I’m having a hard time believing we’re dealing with a fucking mastermind,” I said. “He’s out there!” I pounded my fists against the hard surface of my desk.
It shook angrily, knocking over a cup of pens and sending them scattering across the floor.
Mac didn’t respond.
There wasn’t anything to say that wasn’t going to make me explode into a million pieces.
I turned, facing the large window looking out over the club. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Mac move toward the pens.
“Leave them,” I demanded.
I wanted to tell him he wasn’t my fucking maid but taking my anger out on him wasn’t going to solve anything.
I stood there, stewing in my rage.
Mac left the room and shut the door behind him.
I refused to believe that whoever was leaving these letters was smarter than I was. I was street smart. I knew how to handle shit and get things done the right way. I wasn’t going to let some dumb fuck pull this shit on me.
He was out there, and I was going to find him.
IT WAS SATURDAY AFTERNOON, AND I watched from the window as the club below slowly came alive with my employees prepping for the busy night ahead.
I wasn’t feeling the social shit tonight.
Honestly, I wanted to go upstairs, eat dinner with my soon-to-be wife, and then climb into bed where we’d make mad, passionate love—fuck—all night long.
That wasn’t going to happen, though. It was the end of the month, and since I was a total control freak, I was dealing with all the bullshit paperwork that came with closing out yet another successful month at Clive’s.
I had money. I could pay people to do all of this bullshit for me, but secretly, I loved it. Also, I didn’t trust anyone else with my livelihood. People were thieves, including myself. I’d kill anyone who stole from me, so I didn’t even want to put myself in that position.
The door to my office flew open, and I turned away from the window.
“I have news.”
The words were out of Mac’s mouth before he’d completely entered my office and shut the door. Three long strides put him directly in front of me, and I was alert, waiting for him to say the words I longed to hear.
“Another letter was dropped in the mail.”
I moved away and went to my desk, ready to grab my keys and go to wherever the mystery writer was.
“Where is he?” I could hardly contain my excitement.
I was going to get a piece of whoever it was threatening my world. It wasn’t going to be pretty.
“It’s not that simple, Black.”
Sighing, I dropped into my expensive desk chair. “Of course, it’s not. Nothing’s ever fucking simple.”
“He doesn’t drop the letters himself.” Mac sat in a chair in front of my desk, his large frame engulfing the chair completely.
“So who the fuck is dropping the letters off, then? Whoever it is must know who the letters are coming from.”
I was tugging on the end of my hair without even realizing it. For weeks, I’d been trying to find out who was responsible for the mystery letters that kept ending up in my mail.
Mac shrugged his large shoulders. “Sort of.”
This wasn’t fucking rocket science. It was the simple matter of lying in wait, finding a source, and getting all the information from that source regardless of what it took.
“And?” I growled, throwing my arms up in aggravation.
I wasn’t in the mood to play Mac’s word games.
“The guy dropping the letters is picking them up from another location. He said he gets instructions to show up at the same place at a certain time and waiting there is another letter with instructions on when and where to make the drop.”
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me with this shit. This isn’t fucking Mission Impossible.”
“I wish I was, Black.” Mac shook his head.
“Okay, so who the hell is dropping the letter and instructions for the delivery guy?”
Again, Mac shrugged his wide shoulders. “A completely different guy.”
I chuckled sarcastically to myself. “Who, let me guess, is not the guy writing the letters either?”
“Right,” he answered. “The letter gets dropped off-”
“By another fucking guy who doesn’t know where the letters are coming from either.” I interrupted him.
He took a deep breath. “Exactly.”
“Fuck!” I kicked the nearest thing to me, which happened to be the trashcan next to my desk.
It flew across the room, smashing into the glass of the window overlooking the club. The glass cracked from one end to the other with a loud crack.
Below, the employees stopped to look up toward my office with surprise and concern. They couldn’t see me, but I could see them. After a few seconds of silence, they went back to work as if nothing had happened.
Something had definitely happened.
I’d been fucked over once again.
By the time I got my hands on whoever was responsible, I’d be too angry to enjoy beating the life out of them.